The scent of pheromones radiates between

a polygamous Peacock and his favorite mate.

He whizzes around flashing the fan of

a luminescent tail, like a drag queen on parade

squawking: “ Come here my little chickadee!”

Peahen screeches: “Don’t bother me, didn’t we

just do it a few days ago? And the peachicks

are out of the brooder and will be watching.”

He replies: “A Peacock has needs, you know,

and why do you always have to say no?

Peacock puts on a spectacular show

struttin’ his stuff, skipping around as if his tail

were on fire, showing off a flared cape of iridescent

plumage like an oversized chicken gussied up

for Mardi Gras, kaleidoscopic feathers

with subliminal eyes rotate hypnotically

inducing Peahen to circle around in a flurry,

executing a pas de deux on the toes of her “thorns.”

He bounces and jounces like Carmen Miranda

dancing for Xavier Cugat, king of the rumba,

bantering with her to do the hootchy-kootchy.

She ululates in a tizzy of fright and excitement

like Yma Sumac reaching for high C on Machu Picchu

fending him off with her metatarsal spurs,

spreading her white fluffy feathers,

shimmying, shaking, bumping and grinding

like Gypsy Rose Lee, yielding and resisting,

like human beings struggling to untangle

the mystery of the knot of intimacy.

Milton P. Ehrlich 199 Christie St. Leonia, N.J. 07605